The Angel (17 page)

Whereas with the Saudis, Marwan's contact was a billionaire, a spymaster, and a confidant of the king, with the Libyans his point man was no less exotic: Maj. Abdessalam Jalloud, Gaddafi's right hand, the prime minister of Libya beginning in 1972. Born at some point in the early 1940s (the year has been cited by various sources as 1940, 1941, 1943, and 1944) into the tiny, impoverished al-Magharba tribe, Jalloud shared with Gaddafi his low socioeconomic origins. Yet unlike other members of his tribe of his age, he acquired a high school education and even set his sights on a career as a doctor. He first met Gaddafi in prison after both were
arrested during a 1959 demonstration, and he decided to change the course of his life toward the military, enrolling in the officers' academy. During his military years, Jalloud immersed himself in the revolutionary literature that was popular at the time—mostly based on the experience of the Egyptian and Cuban revolutions. And yet, as opposed to Gaddafi, who grew up in a kind of pristine, puritanical tribal ethos, Jalloud had a tribal experience that was more open. This combination of his relative openness with his tendency toward revolutionary Arab nationalism rather than Gaddafi's ascetic fundamentalism made Jalloud far more ready to enjoy the “good life” than his boss was.
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Even amid the kaleidoscope of colorful characters who populated the young Libyan leadership under Gaddafi, Jalloud stood out. One of his most memorable qualities was a tendency to show eccentric disrespect for representatives of foreign powers. On the morning the king was deposed, for example, the embassies of the United States, the Soviet Union, the United Kingdom, and France sent emissaries to get briefed on the events of the previous night and to learn what they could about the new regime. Each one waited outside his embassy as a military jeep drove around picking them up, the four of them ending up squeezed into the backseat. Dressed in fatigues next to the driver was a man who introduced himself as “Sergeant Mohammad.” They were driven to the headquarters of radio and television, where Sergeant Mohammad, along with other commanders, briefed them about the situation. The “sergeant,” of course, was none other than Jalloud, the commander of the forces that had taken over all the key government offices in Tripoli the night before.

Abdessalam Jalloud was also the central figure in the negotiations that opened between the new regime and representatives of the foreign oil companies over the percentage that the new government would take on all exports. These had not changed for
nearly ten years, and Jalloud now demanded a dramatic increase. During the negotiations, Jalloud would summon the companies' representatives to meetings late at night, hand them his demands or proposals in writing, and send them back to their hotels. Soon after, he would call them at the hotel and demand immediate answers—sometimes threatening that if his demands were not met, the company would be nationalized. Once, Jalloud sauntered into the conference room, wielding an automatic rifle, railing about how Western powers had to sell arms to Libya. In the end, the oil companies acceded to Libya's demands.
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To his credit, Jalloud never discriminated between the global powers, on the one hand—whom he despised for what he considered the pillaging of his native soil—and those who were supposed to be Libya's closest friends and allies, on the other. In March 1973, he came to Egypt for talks about military cooperation between the two countries. Participants included the Egyptian minister of war, Gen. Ahmad Ismail Ali, as well as Ashraf Marwan. During the talks, an argument flared between the young Libyan and the Egyptian minister, a career military man in his late fifties, over the range of a certain ground-to-ground missile. Ismail claimed it was twenty-five miles; Jalloud said it was only two and a half miles. To resolve the dispute, an authoritative reference manual was produced that listed the missile's specifications. Jalloud was right. But he could not restrain himself, and told Ismail that something as small as a decimal point could have big implications, and it would be better if officers were better at reporting the little details so that the political leadership could make better decisions. The minister was furious at the implicit accusation, coming from the mouth of someone who, less than four years earlier, was still a junior officer. “I fought in three wars,” he retorted, “when you were still a little boy.” Jalloud responded that those wars were all failures, and that the failures resulted from false details that military officers gave their leaders. He then stalked out of the room, causing a crisis in the talks.

Marwan ran after him, hoping to calm him, but Jalloud barged into Sadat's office demanding that his honor be respected. As he was explaining himself to Sadat, the war minister stormed in as well, pointed to Jalloud, and yelled, “This unschooled boy humiliated me before my officers!” When Jalloud tried to respond, Ismail threatened, “If this child doesn't shut his mouth, I will smack him with my boots!” The war minister then walked out, slamming the door. He returned to his house and refused to go back to work for three days. Jalloud, no less furious, went back to Libya, causing a rupture in the talks. Marwan, who needed all his diplomatic finesse to bring the talks back on track, followed Jalloud to Tripoli and returned with an answer from Gaddafi to Sadat: The Libyans demanded that Ismail be fired. Sadat was unwilling to hear of it; preparations for war with Israel were well under way. In the end Ismail remained in his position, but Egypt accepted Jalloud's demand that a different diplomatic channel be created to work around the minister of war. Jalloud was still not satisfied. He told his Libyan lawyer to file a suit against Ismail and did not withdraw it even after the Yom Kippur War. Ismail never again visited Libya; he died in late 1974.
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As opposed to Kamal Adham, who was significantly older than Marwan, Jalloud was Marwan's age. This fact, combined with Marwan's impressive family connections and his ability to charm the bark off a tree, quickly moved their relationship from formalities to friendship. Jalloud would often steal out of Tripoli, which under Gaddafi had become a bastion of Islamic asceticism, and head for places where the good life awaited. Often that meant Cairo, where he and other Libyan officers spent nights drinking and doing the town with Marwan. Sometimes Jalloud and Marwan would meet up in Rome or London. During one of these getaways in London, Marwan actually called up his Mossad handler, demanding that the Israelis arrange for prostitutes—in plural—for his high-ranking Libyan friend. Dubi had little experience with this particular aspect
of London nightlife, and he turned for help to his friends at the Mossad's London station. They, in turn, found a reputable escort service to fulfill Jalloud's needs. The tab for Jalloud's debauchery was picked up by the Israeli taxpayer.

Marwan's opponents, of course, did everything they could to make these adventures a matter of public record. Once, during a party in a private home in an upscale Cairo neighborhood, somebody locked Marwan, Jalloud, and their revolutionary Libyan friends into the apartment. When they began shouting to get out, the pranksters called the police to complain about the shouting, and officers arrived at the scene. Sadat received a report on the incident but chose to let it slide. Even if it made Marwan look bad in Cairo, Egypt could not do without his services.

The friendship between Marwan and Jalloud became the pivot of Egyptian-Libyan relations, bearing fruit in the most important joint initiative of the time: the purchase of Mirage warplanes from France.
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The deal, which included the procurement of 110 Mirage 5s, was valued at over $200 million. To make it happen, Marwan traveled often, not just to Tripoli but also to France, even though the Libyans were supposedly fronting the operation. Sadat himself said on more than one occasion that Ashraf Marwan personally overcame many obstacles that the French government, as well as the manufacturer Marcel Dassault, put in the deal's way during the trying days leading up to the October 1973 war.
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As usual, Marwan's achievements weren't purely in the service of his country: Some Egyptian sources reported that he took a hefty fee as well.
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According to the
Al-Shaab
newspaper, his take was $10 million.
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Whether or not Marwan profited, it
is
clear that the Israelis quickly learned everything there was to know about the deal.

MARWAN'S TALENT FOR
keeping the volatile Libyans under control, alongside his stable relations with the Saudis, made him a fixture
in Sadat's world. He also took great advantage of the relationships he developed with some of those closest to Sadat, first among them his wife, Jehan, to secure Sadat's continuing political support. Ashraf Marwan understood that his affinity for dubious dealings and tendency to make harsh enemies at home made the president's support for him all the more crucial.

From the outset, many in Sadat's office bristled at Marwan's meteoric rise. The support he gave Sadat during the May 1971 Corrective Revolution, and the imprisonment of many of Nasser's closest friends that resulted, made him a traitor in the eyes of many ranking Egyptians—especially Nasser's family, including his widow, Tahia, his daughter Hoda and her husband, and Nasser's sons. Marwan often turned their hostility to his advantage, complaining to Sadat about the heavy price he and Mona had paid for supporting him, and using it to bolster his position and to cover for his corruption.
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Another source of antagonism, however, was jealousy of what Marwan represented: a handsome and eloquent upstart, propelled, without any prior experience or discernible achievement, to the top echelons of Egyptian life. His closeness with the president, who backed him unblinkingly, and with the president's wife, who was far more involved in affairs of state than was her predecessor, only added to the ill will directed against Marwan, fueling rumors of his misbehavior. Marwan himself once explained the animosity against him this way: “Seventy percent of Egyptians hated me. For 10 percent of them, it was because of my connection to Gamal Abdel Nasser; for 60 percent it was my age. According to the law, no one under the age of 35 could be appointed a government minister . . . and I had oversight authority over all the ministers when I was still in my twenties. It was unthinkable.”
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Even if he overstated his status and understated his responsibility for the ill will, there was plenty of truth in his words.

At the end of the day, however, it was Marwan's behavior that contributed more than anything else to the relentless attacks against him. For he was indeed corrupt. One example concerned a 1971 procurement of Mercedes automobiles for the President's Office. When investigators from Egypt's General Intelligence Service (Mukhabarat) went over the details of the agreement and documents from the importer, they discovered check stubs made out to Ashraf Marwan totaling $1 million. The chief of intelligence, Gen. Ahmad Ismail Ali, brought the findings to Sadat's attention, but the president ordered the case closed. Intelligence officers involved were exceptionally frustrated, and one of them passed the details to a journalist, who went to Sadat exhorting him to reopen the case. Sadat finally agreed, and Marwan was interrogated, as was Marwan's father. Marwan tried to pin it on another employee in the office, to no avail. But because the investigation failed to produce clear evidence incriminating Marwan, no steps were taken against him.
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The fact that Ashraf Marwan was questioned along with his father was not a big surprise. After a long military career, the elder Marwan entered the business world, and during the 1970s he became known as “Mr. Fifty Percent” because of the large commissions he charged. Jalal al-Din al-Hamamsi, the same journalist who uncovered Marwan's real estate deals with Kamal Adham, investigated Marwan's father as well. The Egyptian minister of trade, Zakaria Tawfik, confirmed that Abu al-Wafa Marwan was suspected of bribe taking, adding that he was under considerable pressure to retire. Further inquiries revealed that both Marwan and his father were under heavy suspicion; according to a number of different sources, it was Marwan who, taking full advantage of his position, brokered the bribes for his father. In this instance, too, the case against him was dropped on orders from the top—despite considerable evidence.
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Nor were Marwan's scandals limited to financial dealings. A big one concerned his rivalry with Ahmad al-Masiri, an officer of the Republican Guard who also served in the President's Office. Here, too, the details are sketchy, and many interested parties have offered contradictory versions. But what they all seem to agree on is that Al-Masiri, young and talented and promising, ambitious and broad-minded, was Marwan's biggest rival in the President's Office; and that Marwan was worried that Al-Masiri would replace him. The more Al-Masiri won Sadat's confidence, the more his power grew. Like Marwan, Al-Masiri knew how to maneuver around the president's family—especially Sadat's oldest daughter, Lubna, who was in her early twenties. Whether out of genuine interest or cold ambition, Al-Masiri asked Lubna to marry him. Marwan, who knew full well the implications of joining the presidential family by marriage, saw the proposal as a direct threat to his status and became obsessed with scuttling the marriage. Sadat's byzantine management style made his goal achievable.

In what followed, Marwan teamed up with two immensely powerful people: Jehan Sadat, who was less than thrilled about her daughter marrying a public servant, even one as promising as Al-Masiri; and Fawzi Abdel Hafez, Sadat's private secretary, friend, and confidant. According to one version of the events, Jehan actually invited Marwan into the conspiracy. Clearly both of them wanted Al-Masiri as far away from Lubna as possible. Jehan sent him a letter, declaring that her daughter did not love him and that he should stop courting her. Fearing that this was not enough, Jehan, Marwan, and Hafez put pressure on Sadat to have Al-Masiri transferred out of the President's Office in order to minimize the opportunities for the two to meet. Sadat agreed to send the young man on a diplomatic mission to Yemen. His mission was successful but limited, and with his return, there also returned the threat of his marrying Lubna—and the pressure on Sadat to put a stop to it.
Direct pressure was applied to Al-Masiri as well, in the form of a long train of visitors telling him that he had no chance of winning Lubna's hand. There were additional efforts made to lower Sadat's impression of Al-Masiri, as well. He received reports from intelligence, for example, that the young man's behavior was less than exemplary. These, too, had their effect.